


Counting to Ten

by HappilyNervousCollection



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: (still my work), Gen, Harrison is the Main Character, No Slash, Reposted from Camp Camp Amino
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 11:14:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13410075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappilyNervousCollection/pseuds/HappilyNervousCollection
Summary: Life starts out with it’s basics. Walking, taking your first steps, saying your first words, etc. Now we’ll be counting to ten, going throughout the first decade of our lives. Or at least, we’ll be walking through the first decade of Harrison’s.





	Counting to Ten

Harrison first became interested in magic at the prime age of nearly a year old.

He’d taken a visit to see his grandfather- an older looking man who bore the same eyes as his own. He looked graceful, elegant and gentlemanly. He’d flashed a deck of cards to Harrison, who out of curiosity had tried to grab the entire deck and eat it. His grandfather had laughed, handing him one of the cards and making sure he didn’t eat it.

He shuffled the cards, the paper seeming to fly and arch over his head, landing perfectly in his awaiting palms. They flew around him like leaves caught in an autumn breeze, flickering their faces and almost changing. Taking the card back, his grandfather had added it to the deck, shuffling it more and more.

Finally, he squeezed the cards, a decent half the deck flying over his head. Suddenly it stopped, one of the cards hovering just over his grandfathers top-hat. Harrison had clapped, giggling in childlike wonder. He had no idea if that was even his card, but the performance itself was phenomenal, and that’s what truly mattered.

Over the course of the next two or so years, Harrison had learned several card tricks, gaining a level of mastery with the concept. He knew the cards like the back of his hand- fifty two cards in total, four suits, two colors, and thirteen cards to a suit. Face cards were queens, kings, and jacks- aces didn’t have faces.

He’d astounded his peers on the playground, their small gasps and claps and looks of awe bringing him immense joy. The teachers seemed especially awestruck and appalled, that a kid who was supposed to be learning the alphabet and morals like sharing had already learned parlor tricks.

On the days where his grandfather would pick him up from preschool, he’d stay for a few extra moments as his grandfather performed tricks for the children. It was easy to see where Harrison got it from.

When he was five years old, Harrison had learned he had powers that extended beyond cards. His grandfather had taken care of him one winter day, and instead of using a lighter to initiate the fire, he’d used his palm. Harrison had been astounded, asking and pleading to learn how the trick was performed.

His grandfather smiled, taking Harrison’s smaller hand in his own wrinkled and calloused one, showing him how to do it. Within no time, he’d conjured up a small stream of flame, adding to the fire. His grandfather seemed surprised, but then again, Harrison was always advanced for his age.

By the age of six Harrison had started to get picked on. Card tricks had become something of a defense mechanism, stalling for time until recess was over. The kids would rarely get physical, but the emotional and mental torment was enough to bring him to tears.

His mother had picked him up one day, Harrison fighting back tears as he eagerly hopped into the car, his usual cheeky smile absent. His mother asked him what was wrong, where his smile had run off to, what had happened. Sniffling, Harrison had asked, _“Am I ugly?”_

She’d paused, looking at him in the mirror. His eyes were red and puffy, his nose dribbling and a pathetic pout on his face. His hair- which had yet to start curling -clung to his forehead, messy and unkempt. His nose had wrinkled, his face red and wet, and the words slipped out of her mouth before she could even think. _“You’ll grow into your looks.”_

By the time he was seven years old, he’d gotten an almost awful feeling in his stomach. He’d left dinner abruptly to call his grandfather, only for the line to go dead.

By the age of seven, he’d lost the most magical person in his life.

The funeral was bleak and drab, Harrison fighting off tears as he stood near the casket where his grandfather’s body lay. He was dressed in his most formal wear, his top hat missing from his balding head, his lips curled upwards slightly in a somber smile. Harrison had inherited the top hat, the article now atop his head, the brim nearly covering his eyes.

At the age of eight, he’d both gained and lost a brother. He’d been overjoyed at the new bundle of happiness, and for a few months the torment at school had become bearable. He’d perform tricks and illusions to the infants at his brother’s daycare, passing on his grandfather’s legacy.

A few months had passed, and Harrison had let his brother try on the top hat after he’d made a grab at it, a wondrous smile on his face, his matching yellowish eyes glimmering. Harrison had giggled upon setting the hat atop his brother’s head, the infant giggling and gurgling as it pulled the brim over it’s head. The hat covered the young child entirely, and upon lifting the brim up, Harrison was met with a void.

His parents weren’t sad at first. No, they were concerned and _angry_. His father had smacked him across the cheek in a fit of rage, Harrison’s face already wet with tears upon losing his brother. The force had nearly knocked him backwards, his mother scrambling to hold his father back, a shocked look on her face as she stared down at her son.

He’d been locked in his room, echos of his mother sobbing and his father yelling rebounding off the walls. He’d then been sent to therapists, disciplinary camps, and then to churches. Nothing seemed to help the situation, and Harrison found that he could barely share his feelings or struggles at school. That’s not what these people were hired to do. They were hired to find his brother.

By the time Harrison was ten, the anger had faded, and now his parents were terrified. He’d advanced in magic due to the heavy amounts of practice, trying desperately to bring his brother back. He’d had enough scars on his hands that he’d taken to wearing gloves, his hands matching wonderfully to how his grandfather’s used to be. He always had advanced quickly.

He’d gotten used to the torment, used to being a punching bag and a doormat for anyone’s use. He’d gotten used to the familiar aches on his stomach and legs, having taken to wearing jeans and at least two layers to make it more bearable. It still hurt, but he learned to suppress it all and make the better out of what he had. It wasn’t like it could get any worse.

By the time he was ten, his parents had shipped him off to Camp Campbell the second summer began. He’d received no briefing about where he was going, he’d simply had his bags packed and a bus ticket.

Not much changed at Camp Campbell, as he found himself targeted once again. Of course, that was a given. Who wouldn’t pick on a quiet kid obsessed with parlor tricks?

Except now the torment had gotten more physical. He’d been held upside down, his head slammed against the floor. He’d had eggs and food items launched at him, had his arm grabbed so forcefully that there was a hand shaped bruise. Except he also found that magic at least helped him avoid some of the trouble.

That is until Nerris entered the picture, throwing snarky comments and insults at him as if they were stones. He of course didn’t put up much of a fight- yes, he was ugly, but he’d grow into his looks -until Nerris questioned the legitimacy of his magic. Telling him it was fake until his ears had turned red with anger.

Of course his magic wasn’t fake- he was surely one to know! The fire from his hands had been real, the disappearance of his brother had been real- it was all real!

Midway through the summer, Harrison had actually found happiness. He started to loosen up a little, and he found that David’s cheerfulness has passed on to him. He was actually having fun, and he was earning praise and admiration for his tricks. He loved it at Camp Campbell.

Then Parents Day arrived.

Initially he hadn’t expected his parents to even show up- he’d thought they’d deserted him at this camp. But of course they showed up to check on his progress, and he was sure the other campers had seen a completely different side to him. Harrison had forgotten that his parents didn’t exactly appreciate his magic. So when they showed up, shaking and yelling and screaming out how he was some sort of devil child, he tried his best to convince everyone that he wasn’t.

But with every card trick or performance planned to impress them, make them proud, they’d been shaking and wincing away from him in fear. He’d been chastised and humiliated and shaken as he remembered how he’d been treated before, falling back into his much more quiet nature.

By the time summer was over, Harrison had taken the week prior to readjust to how he knew his parents would treat him. David knew exactly how his home life was going, and although Harrison had pleaded to stay at camp, he found himself being sent back on that bus, having been told that he simply couldn’t.

That didn’t explain why Max had been adopted. That didn’t explain why Max had been taken in, cared for as a son to David.

Harrison wasn’t jealous by any means. Hell, it was to be expected, and he felt disappointed in himself for even bringing his hopes up. Why would anyone want a devil’s child?


End file.
